The Christmas Machine
Has it hit you yet? You know, the holiday stress bug? The one that ties you all up in knots because you just can't see your way clear from here to Christmas morning?
Most of my adult life I have allowed myself to be bitten by the holiday stress bug, and the thing about having it is that it's contagious. If I have it, then it's likely that my husband and children do, too, and quite possibly others that I share it with. At times I recall thinking I'd like to just go on strike for the holidays and be some sort of martyr and see how it all plays out. Thank heaven I never did that for both my sake and my family's. There really are better ways to cope.
A number of years ago I purchased the book, "Unplug the Christmas Machine" by Jo Robinson. I no longer have a copy of that book, but I do recall feeling very relieved when I read that I could make other choices than to do and be everything to everyone at holiday time (like that was even possible?) It was a helpful book, and I made some changes all those years ago that helped me simplify a number of things. But I still didn't change enough, because just changing "things" wasn't changing ME. It was me, the Christmas Machine, that needed the change.
It was five years ago, when I was sick enough to slip to the other side of the veil, that I realized that one of my friends was more angel than mortal. At a time when most everyone else was tied up with the holiday rush, my friend never stopped coming by, sitting for hours listenening to me and my family as we struggled with the difficulties of dealing with serious illness and the holidays under some pretty awful circumstances. Not only did she spend hours of time she likely did not have, she also took on the added burden of doing my personal shopping. I was in fear that this might be my last Christmas, if, indeed, I would even make it to Christmas, and it was critical to me that my husband and children had something special that they would always remember.
The interesting thing about this is that my friend doesn't like to shop. And, when she had completed my shopping, I realized that she had done none of her own for her family. This was a true act of love and compassion, and her halo was becoming more and more clear to us. She gave us quite a gift that year, and it wasn't anything wrapped up waiting to be opened. It was an example of the pure love of Christ, charity at it's best. She had successfully unplugged the Christmas Machine.
I no longer live near my friend, and we haven't stayed in contact much the past couple of years, but she still remains in my heart. And when the holidays roll around, all I have to do is to think of her example and then I know that everything will work out. The Machine will remain unplugged. And no one will even miss it.
InJoy and gratitutde,
Cristi
P.S. In my next post I will share some of the ways our family has been more successful in keeping that Machine unplugged.
Most of my adult life I have allowed myself to be bitten by the holiday stress bug, and the thing about having it is that it's contagious. If I have it, then it's likely that my husband and children do, too, and quite possibly others that I share it with. At times I recall thinking I'd like to just go on strike for the holidays and be some sort of martyr and see how it all plays out. Thank heaven I never did that for both my sake and my family's. There really are better ways to cope.
A number of years ago I purchased the book, "Unplug the Christmas Machine" by Jo Robinson. I no longer have a copy of that book, but I do recall feeling very relieved when I read that I could make other choices than to do and be everything to everyone at holiday time (like that was even possible?) It was a helpful book, and I made some changes all those years ago that helped me simplify a number of things. But I still didn't change enough, because just changing "things" wasn't changing ME. It was me, the Christmas Machine, that needed the change.
It was five years ago, when I was sick enough to slip to the other side of the veil, that I realized that one of my friends was more angel than mortal. At a time when most everyone else was tied up with the holiday rush, my friend never stopped coming by, sitting for hours listenening to me and my family as we struggled with the difficulties of dealing with serious illness and the holidays under some pretty awful circumstances. Not only did she spend hours of time she likely did not have, she also took on the added burden of doing my personal shopping. I was in fear that this might be my last Christmas, if, indeed, I would even make it to Christmas, and it was critical to me that my husband and children had something special that they would always remember.
The interesting thing about this is that my friend doesn't like to shop. And, when she had completed my shopping, I realized that she had done none of her own for her family. This was a true act of love and compassion, and her halo was becoming more and more clear to us. She gave us quite a gift that year, and it wasn't anything wrapped up waiting to be opened. It was an example of the pure love of Christ, charity at it's best. She had successfully unplugged the Christmas Machine.
I no longer live near my friend, and we haven't stayed in contact much the past couple of years, but she still remains in my heart. And when the holidays roll around, all I have to do is to think of her example and then I know that everything will work out. The Machine will remain unplugged. And no one will even miss it.
InJoy and gratitutde,
Cristi
P.S. In my next post I will share some of the ways our family has been more successful in keeping that Machine unplugged.
posted by Cristi at
9:30 PM
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